by James Maxey
"Good boss," he cooed.
IT WAS LATE morning when Vulpine, the Slavecatcher General, drifted down to the rocky bank, his eyes drawn to the blue-scaled corpses being picked at by black-feathered buzzards. The buzzards hopped away as he landed, some taking to the air to perch in the branches of nearby pines, others, more bold, backing up only a few yards to glare at him. Even though the faces were mutilated, with the eyes torn away and the flesh around the mouths pecked and peeled, Vulpine recognized these dragons, fellow slavecatchers, good and honorable defenders of order. He shivered as a chill wind stirred his feather-scales.
There were human corpses as well, similarly mutilated by the buzzards. Vulpine recognized them as Hemming and Turpin. The world was no worse off without them. He noted that Shay wasn't among the corpses, nor was there any sign of Chapelion's stolen books.
Had Shay somehow managed to kill three slavecatchers? It made no sense. It was plain that all three dragons had been downed by arrows. He'd heard about the new bow that had caused the massacre at Dragon Forge, a weapon with more than twice the range of a longbow. Dragon Forge was barely ten miles distant. Had these slavecatchers fallen victim to a rebel patrol?
He noted something odd about the arrows. He reached out and plucked one from a corpse and held it to better catch the light. His eyes weren't playing tricks. These arrows were yard-long, perfectly straight shafts of living wood. The fletching at the end wasn't feathers, but fresh green leaves growing in perfect symmetry. Stranger still, the killing end of the twig showed no trace of an arrow head. The wood simply narrowed down to a hard, thorn-like point. What tree grew such twigs? One final artifact of the arrow disturbed him. The shaft couldn't have been in the corpse for more than a day, judging from the condition of the bodies. Yet, the part of the arrow that had been buried in the body was covered with white, threadlike projections, as if the arrow had been taking root. The shaft sported several fresh pale bumps, like it was budding.
Vulpine snapped the shaft. The bark that peeled away from the jagged break was bright green and full of sap. He sniffed the wood. It was an unremarkable odor; he still couldn't identify the species. The biologians back at the College of Spires perhaps could assist, though his gut told him that this was something new under the sun, that no one had ever seen living arrows before. Most biologians were rationalists, but Vulpine was old enough and wise enough to suspect there were invisible forces beyond the comprehension of dragons. Most slaves believed in magic, in ghosts and witches, angels and demons, and Vulpine had some sympathy with these beliefs.
He felt a chill creep along his spine as a shadow passed over him. The long fringe of feathery scales along his neck stood on end. He looked up, then immediately let out his breath and chuckled. It was only Balikan, a young slave-catcher he was training, drifting down from the sky to join him. The vultures skittered back even further, but Vulpine was glad of his company.
Balikan wrinkled his nose in disgust at the odor. The corpses weren't rotting yet, but their bowels had emptied, and the gallons of blood that had seeped into the gravel had its own aroma. Vulpine had barely noticed; he'd been around corpses so often the odor had little effect on him.
"By the bones," Balikan said softly. "Who could have done this?"
"That, my young friend, is an excellent question."
"I don't see Shay's body. Could he-?"
"Doubtful," said Vulpine. "Shay's never held a bow in his life. Nor has he displayed much in the way of a spine. He probably groveled for mercy when the slavecatchers caught up to him. Someone else killed these dragons. They must have been hidden in the trees."
Balikan scanned the steep bank, his eyes darting from branch to branch.
"I don't think they're still around," said Vulpine. "These corpses are at least twelve hours old. Maybe sixteen."
"How can you tell?"
Vulpine nudged the twisted talon of the nearest corpse with a hind-claw. "They plainly didn't die today. The bodies are cold and stiff-it takes several hours to lose body heat, although one cold night on a damp bank can do it. Rigor mortis sets in little by little-the degree these limbs are contracted tells me it hasn't reached its peak. I also know it's not been more than a day because the buzzards haven't made much progress."
Balikan shuddered. "I've never been around this many dead bodies."
"Get used to it," said Vulpine. "You'll see many more in the coming days."
"Why, sir?"
"King Albekizan kept this kingdom stable for almost half a century. Now he's dead, and his son didn't last a month before a human assassinated him. The humans have taken advantage of all this instability and captured Dragon Forge, just to the west of here." He pointed to the brownish tint in the sky, evidence of the distant smokestacks. "I suspect that's where Shay is, along with Chapelion's books."
"Then he's escaped for good," said Balikan.
"Nonsense," said Vulpine. "I've had a few slaves vanish on me over the years. I can't claim a perfect record. But I've never let a slave go when I still had a lead simply because pursuing that lead was dangerous. Dragon Forge is a magnet for slaves. Shay and these two fools were among the first to hear the rumors and make a break for it, but they won't be the last. Our jobs are going to be much more difficult if the humans are allowed to hold on to Dragon Forge. It's imperative that we sky-dragons act now to strangle this revolution while it's still in its cradle."
"But, the humans defeated an army of sun-dragons!" said Balikan. "They slaughtered earth-dragons by the thousands. Why will we fare any better?"
Vulpine chuckled. "Besting an earth-dragon isn't so hard. In my experience, the average human is twice as smart as an earth-dragon. Sun-dragons might be as smart as the humans, but they're also bullies. They're used to winning fights due to their size, but if a few of them get hurt, the rest turn tail and run. They don't know the first thing about real courage-and next to nothing about strategy-because they don't need it. When evolution has left you with the deadliest jaws in the food chain, you get used to solving all your problems with your teeth. We sky-dragons are made of different stuff. Our brains might be half the size of sun-dragons, but we actually bother to use them. We study the world. We learn things. Brute force failed to break the rebellion at Dragon Forge. It's time for a more thoughtful approach."
"You have a plan in mind?"
"The rough outlines of one, yes," said Vulpine. "This isn't something we're going to be able to do alone, however. We should go consult with Chapelion."
"So it's back to the College of Spires."
"No," said Vulpine. "To the Grand Library of the High Biologian. That's where Chapelion will be by now. He's bringing some order to this chaos."
"How?"
Vulpine ignored him. "Our second priority should be reconnaissance. Let's study the area and gather the information we'll need to solve this problem once and for all. They say the new bows can reach out up to a mile… but there's a lot we can learn from over a mile away."
Balikan looked puzzled. "Our second priority? What's our first?"
Vulpine looked down at the bodies of the three slavecatchers. "We should build a pyre and cremate the remains of our brethren. I've known Zernex almost thirty years. He deserves a more noble end than to be pecked apart by buzzards."
"Of course," said Balikan, sounding embarrassed that this had required explanation. "What of the slaves?"
Vulpine shrugged. "Let the birds have their fill."
CHAPTER THREE:
THE CITY AS A HEART
JANDRA LOOKED DOWN at her notes on the thick oak table beside her. "Unlatch safety," was underlined. "One second delay between spark and shot," was underlined twice. "Keep butt of gun against shoulder," had four thick lines beneath it.
She looked back across the spacious loft at the target, a round wooden shield balanced atop a stool about fifty feet away, with a feather mattress behind it, and a thick brick wall behind that. She braced herself as she aimed, gritting her teeth as she pressed the butt of the weapon
firmly against her bruised shoulder. She pulled the trigger. There was a flash, a hiss, a curl of peppery smoke, then BOOM. The force rattled every bone in her body, but she kept her balance. A cloud of thick white smoke in front of her hid the target for a few seconds. When it dispersed, she found the target gone, reduced to splinters jutting from the feather mattress. A few puffs of down floated in the air.
"Bull's eye," said Burke. "That's how it's supposed to work."
Anza had her fingers in her ears. Her nose wrinkled as the acrid smoke reached her.
"Does it have to be so loud?" Jandra asked.
"Yes," said Burke. "The cannon I'm building will be even louder. It's the sound of the future, girl. Get used to it."
Jandra tried reloading the weapon the way Burke had shown her, stuffing the wad of powder-filled cotton down the barrel with the ram-rod, then stuffing the shot bag in with it. She tapped some fresh powder into the flash pan, and inserted a new fuse.
"This isn't exactly a fast weapon to reload," said Jandra.
"I'm still working on a percussion-activated cartridge," said Burke. "In the Human Age, guns took centuries to refine. I had a week."
"I wasn't criticizing your work."
Burke sighed. "Sorry if I'm defensive. I've had almost no sleep. It's got me on edge."
"Is your leg keeping you awake?"
"That's part of it. The bigger part is trying to keep this town running. Ragnar's management skills are somewhat lacking. He had no plans for securing resources like food and water, let alone coal and ore. We've had some lucky breaks so far, but it's only a matter of time before the dragons reorganize and set up a blockade. It's what I would do. Holding onto the town isn't enough. We have to be able to project force."
Anza set up a new target, the top of a crate on which the crude outline of an earth-dragon had been drawn. Jandra looked toward the fireplace, where Lizard, the earth-dragon child, sat on the hearth, staring at the flames. The scales on his back shifted slowly through shades of dull orange and red. If Lizard had been frightened by the rifle shot, he didn't show it. She wondered if he'd even recognize the outline on the board. Once Anza was clear, Jandra pulled the trigger again. She clenched her jaw as the fuse sizzled… BLAM! Her shoulder felt bruised down to the bone. Again, though, she was pleased with the results. The target was shredded.
"Okay," Jandra said, lowering the gun. "This gives me the firepower I need if I get into a bad spot. And, I still have this if I need to turn invisible." She raised her left arm, sporting the silver bracelet, the ring of invisibility she'd created for her sun-dragon friend Hex. Her former friend, to be exact, now that Hex had stolen her genie, the source of her powers. Jandra had charged the bracelet with enough reflective nanites to work a half-dozen times. Hex had used it once, to her knowledge, meaning she had five chances to vanish from sight if needed.
Burke said, "Anza will be along to help remove obstacles. I'm also sending Vance."
"Vance?" Jandra asked. Anza glanced up from the stack of targets, looking as if she, too, was surprised by this news. "The short guy with the bad mustache? Why him?"
"He's the best archer we have with a sky-wall bow," said Burke. "Also, I like him. He's got a good heart. I trust him."
Anza made a flurry of hand signals toward her father. Burke frowned. "How can you say he's just a kid? I think he's the same age you are. He's definitely older than Jandra. He's going. I don't have the energy to discuss it further."
Anza scowled. Though Anza's feelings were easy to interpret at the moment, Jandra worried more about Anza as a companion than Vance. Anza didn't speak, and Jandra didn't understand her hand signals. Without Burke around to translate, she was worried about how they were supposed to communicate. Jandra was also worried about Burke's health. He was sweating despite the frigid drafts that cut through the loft. If she still had her powers, healing his leg would be a simple matter. She was frustrated that he had to be in such pain.
There was a knock on the floor. The trap door swung open, revealing the bald pate of Burke's chief foreman, a portly fellow everyone called Biscuit. "I know you said no visitors, Burke, but I think you're gonna want to talk to this guy. He says he's an escaped slave from the College of Spires. Used to work for Chapelion himself."
Burke raised an eyebrow. "Of course. Bring him up."
The man who followed Biscuit up through the trap door was dressed in a fine red coat with shiny metal buttons. The coat was mud-flecked and covered with brambles and small rips. Despite the poor state of the coat, it reminded Jandra of the finery she used to have access to growing up in the palace. Unlike many of the rough, rugged rebels who populated Dragon Forge, the new arrival looked as if he had at least a passing familiarity with soap. His bright orange hair was pulled back into a short braid with a black ribbon. He was young, in his early twenties perhaps, quite tall despite his atrocious posture, and too thin for his height. His face had a slightly feminine quality, perhaps due to the unusual fullness of his lips; his cheeks were dotted with freckles.
The new arrival cleared his throat. "You must be Kanati," he said, addressing Burke. "My name is Shay. I can't believe I've actually found you."
"Nobody calls me Kanati anymore," said Burke. "I left that name behind when I fled Conyers. I don't miss it. Call me Burke."
"By whatever name, it's an honor, sir," Shay said, crossing the room and extending his hand. Burke reached out and grasped it, giving it a good shake. "Chapelion wrote the history of the battle of Conyers. Even though Chapelion wrote from the perspective of the victors, you remain a sympathetic character in his narrative. Chapelion respects genius."
Burke cocked his head. "You can read?"
"Yes sir," said Shay. "Chapelion used me as a living quill. He would dictate his books while eating his dinner, or taking his bath, or simply walking the grounds of the College. I faithfully followed behind, recording his every thought. In the hours when his duties took him elsewhere, I had access to his private collection of books, some of the rarest manuscripts in the kingdom."
"How rare?" asked Burke.
"From the Human Age."
Shay slipped his leather pack from over his shoulder and sat it on the floor. "I stole several works from Chapelion before I escaped," he said, pulling out books one by one. The tomes looked ancient; Jandra noted the titles: The Origin of Species, The Wealth of Nations, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Leviathan. The fifth book was comparatively new-A Glorious Victory: The Defeat of the Southern Uprising. Shay held this book out to Burke. "I've marked the pages documenting your role in the rebellion."
Burke didn't reach to take the book. "Why would any man want to read a catalog of his failures? My sole claim to fame before Dragon Forge has been losing a rebellion." Burke shook his head, then glanced toward the fireplace. "Now I fear the next history written about me will say I learned nothing from my mistakes. They'll note how poorly planned our uprising was, and how little thought was given to what would come after we took Dragon Forge." He took off his spectacles and cleaned them on his shirt. "It's bad enough that people who don't read history fail to learn from it; how much worse is it that the men who lived it are unable to gain any wisdom?"
"The blow you struck here is still echoing through the kingdom," said Shay. "The dragon hierarchy is on the verge of collapse. Sun-dragons plot to seize advantage over other sun-dragons in this time of turmoil. And now, Chapelion has allied himself with the valkyries and plots to overthrow Androkom as High Biologian, risking a civil war among the colleges. The dragons are so busy with their intrigues, you may never face an attempt to retake Dragon Forge."
Burke shook his head. "We can't count on that. If it does work out that way, I still don't expect to wind up as a hero in anyone's history. Ragnar is going to get all the glory."
As if the sound of Ragnar's name had summoned him, a voice boomed from below: "All glory belongs to God!" The elevator that carried Burke's chair up to the loft rattled as the chains lifted it. The bushy, unkempt mane of hair th
at wreathed Ragnar's leathery face came into view. As usual, Ragnar was naked. He'd taken a sacred vow not to wear clothes or cut his hair until the last dragon was slain. His body was crisscrossed with scabs, souvenirs from the battle to capture Dragon Forge.
Jandra cast her gaze at his feet. Ragnar was her brother, though they'd been raised apart. As an orphan, she'd dreamed her whole life of finding a blood relative, someone who would instantly resonate as a member of her true family. Now that she'd found one, it had left her feeling even more orphaned than before.
Ragnar hadn't arrived alone. He was surrounded by eight burly warriors in armor he'd taken to calling his Mighty Men. The biggest of these, Stonewall, was a true giant-easily seven feet tall and thickly muscled. Unlike the other Mighty Men, veterans of battle whose grizzled faces were marred with scars, Stonewall's face was pristine, youthful, and clean-shaven, beneath wavy black locks.
Frost, the man she'd shot, stepped from behind Stonewall, looking furious. His head was wrapped in bandages, and brown blood stained the cotton gauze where his ear had been. Jandra felt a twinge of guilt; she'd only intended to frighten Frost. If she still had her powers, she could have grown him a new ear. Of course, she would likely have been denounced as a witch for the effort.
"Burke," Ragnar growled. "My tolerance has limits. Your usefulness as a weapon maker doesn't give you the right to shelter a witch. This is to be a holy city; turn over Jandra, that she may face the fitting punishment for her kind."
Jandra used the ramrod to slide a new bag of powder down the muzzle of the gun.
"I'm not a witch," she said, calmly. "And I'm not Burke's to turn over."
"If you're innocent you have nothing to fear," said Stonewall. His voice was as deep and smooth as a sun-dragon's. "There are tests we will apply to determine whether or not you've been touched by the devil."
Jandra pushed a bag of shot into the gun.
